


Impressions

by Ejunkiet



Series: The Reunion series [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Adventure, Drama, F/M, ME2 based, Reunion series, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-21
Packaged: 2017-11-23 23:35:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/627773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ejunkiet/pseuds/Ejunkiet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She died, they didn't. Time moves on, indulging itself with the memories held by her crew, until only impressions remain. This is the previously named 'Reunion series'. What follows is a series of little moments: the coming and goings of a suicide mission, and the people undertaking it. Mass Effect two based.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First impressions: fingertips.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work in progress, so don't be surprised if these chapters undergo some more edits. The goal is to eventually bring these sections together into a cohesive piece, instead of the snippets that I've managed between report, essays and labs. The other one shots of this series are more complete, stand-alone pieces.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After what was meant to be his final stand, Garrus Vakarian wakes up in an empty medical bay, and collects his thoughts.

### First Impressions

_There is a thrum beneath his fingertips that time can't touch, pulsing beneath the thick leather of his gloves as his grip tightens around the barrel of his weapon, swinging the scope back up to his target. There is not enough time to be choosy about his targets, but luckily, he doesn't have to; bodies scuttle into the cross hairs of his scope like insects over the barrier between him and the city, poorly organised or defended. It's the exact same thing Garrus has had to put up with for the past 36 hours, and while the pickings are still easy, he can see this is changing; the swarms clustering, bolstering, as fewer attempt the bridge._

_There's a flicker of movement and his scope focuses on the shaped scalp of a Batarian, unable to resist a peak over the barricade as he breaks cover for less than half a second, and it's more than Garrus needs to line up the shot, exhaling slowly for the shot until his gun clicks. A beep signals the overheating of the sink, but he has it changed before the merc has moved, sniping him cleanly between the eyes. The heat sink clicks again, good only for a single shot as it sends heat searing along the rifle, and he tosses it away, rummaging in what's left of the pile at his feet._

_He's running out of time._

_The thrumming rings in his fingertips as he lines up his final shots. He has maybe an hour or two left of this before they endless cascade of bodies finally overwhelms him, but he has plans to make every last shot count.  
_

_\--_

When he wakes, it's to a darkness he doesn't recognise, the silence punctuated by the faint beep of machines and the flashes of white hot pain that lance through his shoulder, and he couldn’t place where he was. His face was strangely numb, and he could remember – _just_ \- the burst of pain, greater pain that lacerated the skin of his face, shredding through his armor, natural and manufactured. With his next breath, he remembered the gunship, the manic grin of the final mercenary as he had pulled the trigger, and the room had imploded, raining glass. _Then pain_.

He takes another breath, and his vision whiting at the pain that constricts his chest, some of the numbness in his cheek fading as his skin _itches,_ tight in a way that pulled the pain up from his jaw, settling with a dull ache just beneath his right eye. Somehow, despite all of the odds, he had survived, then. He takes another breath, wincincing even as the drugs take hold, and some of the pain leaches away.

_Another heat sink clicks. Punt, grasp, click. The pile at his feet had dwindled to two. This was where it was to end, then._

Sometime later, his eyes reopen, and he can hear the gentle hum of ship engines.

He remembers Shepard.

Blood-soaked, and counting down the shots in the tiny courtyard in the back-end of Omega, waiting to be put down, she had arrived guns blazing, the N7 insignia glinting cheekily against the dim lighting of the blood soaked docking bay as she scoped the men that had broken past his guard and took them out, sniper shots clean and sharp. Here was his proof that there _was_ justice in galaxy if you knew in where to look and who to find–before she had been gunned down and burned to a cinder with the ruins of her ship, resting in the silt and dust of the ocean planet.

He recalls the details perfectly, the news placing the whole of the Citadel on a pause; when he’d decided to turn his back on the Citadel, and its expensive facade of galactic peace _._ They were engrained within him, the impressions left by her on what he was _now_ as vivid as the scars that scraped down his face.

There had been no funeral, as Shepard was a spacer, and when filling out the compulsory risk acknowledgement form before they had set out for Feros –when the crew of the Normandy were given these to fill out by a disgruntled human ambassador, they had laughed at the ridiculousness of bureaucracy- she had crossed out all of the suggested ceremonial options, and simply put _null._

 _‘If my body is found, and is still in one piece, I want it burned. I don’t want my dead flesh, my dead weight, to be what people think of when they think of me. I want them to remember_ this-’ She had grabbed his hand, deft fingers slipping the clasps off of his gloves before he had an inkling of what she was doing, and in complete disregard of the differences of biology between their species, intertwined her fingers with his and pressed their hands to her chest. ‘ _And this.’_ She was leaning forward into his personal space, grabbing and maintaining eye contact as her other hand slipped up to his visor, careful around the metal as her fingers pried it away.

He was still blinking at the change of focus when she had withdrawn, leaving a few inches between them, and simply looked at him, the thrum of her heartbeat reverberating beneath his fingers.

_‘I don’t care what they do with my body. This life – this moment – is what I am. When the energy stops, and these moments end, and there’s nothing left in this body - that's it. The rest is just organic waste.’_

_\--_

_His last heat sink clicks into place. The bodies pile up outside. There is a clatter, and the group has breached the front door, rapid steps bringing them from the courtyard and up the stairs._

He was moving before his mind had caught up with the movements, fingers grasping at the intravenous lines that pinch the skin at his neck, hands shaking with the effort to remove them. Gripping them, he extricates them without ceremony, dropping them one by one into the empty space somewhere above his head. Trying to find his feet the strength in his knees fails, sending him tumbling to the floor. Using every means at his disposal, and content to disregard how the remaining tubes drag on the floor behind him, he somehow manages to reach the door, resting his weight against it as his omnitool flickers to life and begins the hack that would gain him access to the rest of the ship.

The program beeps into action, and he's left with just himself and his thoughts, old memories crowding at the fringes of his mind as he rests his head against the metal, and remembers the thrill of feeling the vibration of her heartbeat beneath his fingertips.

_The thrumming races to a pulse, and he makes the shot._


	2. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " _Garrus._ We are no longer in the Alliance military. I will not stand for such formality on my ship."

### Reunions

The lighting was flickering in the otherwise empty hall as the projected hololock - previously a solid, steady red - pinged, brightening into a green. With a neat click from his omnitool, the hacking program completed and disengaged, releasing him from the darkened medical bay, and he ignored the pain that flared at the bright contrast of the fluorescent lighting flooded in. A breath, and then another to combat the dizziness, before he was striding forward, past empty tables and a familiar deck. He almost stopped, doubled over, gulping at the air as he took in the ship that shouldn't be- _couldn't be_ \- real, but for the burn of a question, that demanded he _know_ if it was true. If he had dreamed her up. _Shepard_ , the commander he had followed to the edge of the galaxy and back.

_By the spirits, let it be true._

His path yielded to a corridor he did not recognise, and following the curve of the hall, he faced an elevator. It took another moment’s pause before he stepped in, and keyed the instructions for the ‘Command Deck’ on the lift access pad.

 _Now_ he could regain his bearings, his memories of the Normandy unfolding around him; a newer, sleeker version, making his ways through rooms and corridor lined with sheer metal and fluorescent lighting, just famliar enough to be reminiscent of what came before.

He had to admit, though, the additions to the ship were impressive - and this impression was helped no less by his treatment in the medical bay. The pieces fell into place, with the gleaming yellow insignia pasted across every inch of this space, confirming his suspicions on the identity of the humans that had accompanied his- _the_ commander. In the hours between when he had woken up and been able to move, he had had more than enough time to consider them; however, he couldn't say he had come to a decision on his opinion. The information they had gathered on the pro-human organisation on their previous mission had been damning - experiments involving thresher maws, and his commander's previous team members tended to have that effect. He couldn't rationalise Shepard's involvement with them.

The sound of raised voices guided him to the communications room - or command center, as it seemed to be called now - just in time to hear a deeper voice -human, male- exclaim: "-you have to remember Shepard, he took a bad hit."

"Discussing me behind my back, Commander?"

Startled from the flickering hologram before her, a smile broke across her features as she broke away from her conversation with the other man. Her eyes flitted over him, resting on the bandage that now covered half of his face before settling on his, and he was momentarily startled at the glow of cybernetics that lit them. " _Garrus._ We are no longer in the Alliance military. I will not stand for such formality on my ship."

Her smile was warm, although it wavered as she searched his features. There was a question in her gaze, a line of questioning he was not prepared to follow, sending his mandibles fluttering as she trapped him in her gaze. He was unsure of her familiarity with turian visual cues, but he was not sure if he could keep his composure if she pushed him. Hell, this was Shepard. If he started, he wasn't sure he could ever stop.

Blinking forcefully to break that chain of thought, he broke her gaze, glancing to the opposite side of the room. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a slight movement - her head inclining, and the other crew member responding, before turning to leave the room - before she turned back to him with a smile.

"Garrus."

She approached him slowly, extending a hand as her smile returned. Giving into the urge, he grinned back, grasping her hand in his grip. Her mood was infectious, as it had always been - despite the fact that there would be more questioning later. There always was.

But she had given him time, which was more than he could ask for, and he was grateful for it.

"How much pain are you in?"

He glanced back up to meet her gaze, surprised as her eyes traced across his and he found he couldn't place her expression. It took him a moment to recognise the line she was tracing, and how bad the torn up plates must look to other species. He shifted, the dull ache a constant reminder, before he rolled a shoulder in a shrug.

"Not as much as I was." His tone was mild and even in spite of the discomfort that clenched his hands ineffectually at his side, twitching to reach the skin beneath the bandages which was beginning to _itch_. "It looks worse than it is. Your doctor is well stocked with the _good stuff_ , so you don't need to worry about it affecting my performance."

A brow rose, her lips pursing, before her expression shifted, and for a moment it looked like she was about to laugh. "' _T’is just a flesh wound.’"_ Her smile returned for a moment, before her voice took on a more serious note. “I wonder if this experience has finally made you realize you're not as invincible as you seem to think, though, Vakarian."

"It'll take more than a few scratches and tears to keep me down – and more than a missile to the face to damage my pride.”

Her form was relaxing by inches as she joined him at the railing, relinquishing some of the tension that had become such an integral part of _Shepard_ that he realized, alarmingly, that this was probably the first time he had ever seen her relax. His mandibles fluttered, flexing against his jaw as his eyes turned back on her, considering the subtle differences this made to her – primarily, her stature - before she turned and caught his gaze, raising a brow. Answering her grin with one of his own, he made a gesture across the span of the communication room, stark lines and sleek metal décor and all.

"The 'digs' are impressive, Shepard."

Her arms crossed, a laugh breaking out of her chest, warming her voice as her eyes slid sidelong to his, a brow raising again. "'Digs'? You've spent some more time around humans." Her laughter subsided into small, happy chuckles, before she was shaking her head, eying him with a bemused expression. "Well, yes. This is nice, isn't it? It's a wonder just what illicit organizations can afford."

"It's the lack of red tape. Trust me. Vigilante work brought in more credits than I could ever need."

The moment passed, and taking in a breath he managed a mental shake, enjoying her small grin as he moved to join her, resting his weight against the railing. After a moment of comfortable silence, her breath released in a sigh, and inclining his head, he met her gaze. A small smile flickered across her lips, that crooked brow quirked again. "You seem to have a proclivity for suicide missions, Vakarian."

His mandibles fluttered in amusement at that, and he gave her a lengthy sidelong look. "Hmmm... What is it you humans say, the pot calling the kettle..- oof!"

He huffed softly as her closed hand made contact with his chest, sending the clunk of armor-on-armor clattering loudly into the quiet of the room.

"So, the rumours about human colonies... are true?"

She sighed, long and hard, her shouders collapsing as if it were a physical weight. "It appears so. And Cerberus - have done their research well. I can't turn my back on this threat. Even if it does mean working with some… interesting characters with a mutual goal.” For a moment, it didn’t seem like the smile reached her eyes; but her expression cleared, and she shook her head, refocusing on him. “But that is my choice. What about you, Garrus?"

Her gaze had hardened into brilliant jewels, and the teasing atmosphere that had surrounded them was gone. This was the commander, infamous for her ability to obtain results, and her dogged tenacity. And by her flank was where he'd be; protecting her six as they carved their way through the galaxy. Fighting for justice amidst the amoral, apathetic stars. Saren had never really stood it was a chance – and neither did the mercenaries of Omega when he had become the ‘ _Archangel_ ’ in her legacy.

He held her gaze for a long, steady moment, before he made his decision. Taking a step forward, he raised his arm, gesturing towards his omnitool as he caught her eye.

"Do you mind?"

She watched him for a long moment, before she shook her head, pushing off from the railing and staightening before him. Another step brought the soft crown of her fringe - hair, she called it - brushing the underside of his chin, and slowly, with deliberate movements, he ran his fingers through it, lightly gripping a handful of the strands. As carefully as he could, he maneuvered so that she fit more comfortably beneath his chin – or at least as comfortable as she could - and flipped his wrist to activate his omnitool.

Tapping a few short lines, he raised the glowing interface of his omnitool, loading up the diagnostic suite and syncing it to his visor. The readout flickered, and he watched as the diagnostic software sampled and cross-referenced the input, listing the results in a mix of citadel languages. Some oils that her body naturally produced, intermingled with some undefinable organic aromatic compound, that he figured came from her wash. The results were the same as before; invariably human, and _alive_.

"I can't begin to _fathom_ how they managed it, but they really brought you back." His attention flicked back from the scrolling list to his hands, and he ran his fingers through it once more. "And there's nowhere else I'd rather be."

She gave an involuntary shiver beneath him - and pulling back, he realised just how  _close_ he had gotten in the past few moments - far more than he had originally intended. As careful as possible with the thicker fingers of his gloves, he extricated his hands from where they had gotten invariably tangled - before he realised the extent of his mistake: the catches of his gauntlets had somehow caught on her hair.

His muffled curses were well beneath her hearing range - or so he _hoped._

He set about the process of untangling, and then removing his damn armor as speedily and gently as possibly, slipping his hands to the more neutral perch on her shoulders. He pulled away, searching her features - and he was startled to find her _smiling_. It wasn't the same half-cocked expression she got when she teased, with one mismatched turn-of phrase or another would lead him to interpret her words _altogether inappropriately -_ as there was no sign of sarcasm, or teasing, in it.

His expression relaxed into a small grin, his free mandible flexing lazily back, as he returned the gesture for what it was - a greeting for a friend that he had not seen in a long time.

He raises a gloved finger to tap lightly against his visor, clinking against the metal. “Also, your recklessly improvised maneuvers earlier, flanking three crime bosses using nothing but a shotgun. Synthetics can be good, but not _that_ good. _Shepard_ good. They’d get shot to pieces if they attempted any of the stunts you pull – the Geth that fought with Saren are evidence enough."  
  
She let out a low huff of air, followed by a murmur so low he barely caught it; something about _relating his commander to a Geth,_ and _insubordination_ _on the first day of the job_.

A chuckle escaped him, his mandibles widening into a tired smile, before he winced at the twinge in cheek, a forceful reminded of the staples currently holding his face together. "Aah… I figured, after the commandeering of the Normandy and our current... affiliation, the rules of conduct were more relaxed."  
  
"Now, Vakarian, even vigilantes run a tight ship."  
  
He laughed again, enjoying the ease of it, and the feeling that accompanied it, a peace that had eluded him for months. That had seemed impossibly to reclaim during the last few weeks. The darkness at the edge of his thoughts purred, unraveling – and he pushed it back, forcing his eyes back on the commander. The gleam of machinery was vivid below her features – and he figured his gut instinct was right. _This_ was where he belonged. He would match her step for step, bullet for bullet.

\--

The silence is comfortable, but it doesn't take long for the ache in his plates to become too much. His time is up.

"I'm going to break myself more if we continue, and I don't think the good doctor will appreciate it if I have to come back for another session."  
  
"Back to the main battery? This Normandy _is_ significantly bigger; I’m sure we can find you somewhere better."  
  
He gave her a look, before taking the first slow step away from the platform, keeping a hand on the railing to steady him, the painkillers kicking-in with a force that sends him spinning. "The main battery will do fine. I sleep best within an arm’s reach of heavy weaponry. Turian thing. I'll be fine."  
  
"I meant what I said, at the base. It's good to see you, Garrus."

A small smile played across his features despite himself, and he gave her a small nod before he finally managed to find his sense of balance, throwing his last jibe over his shoulder as he passed through the narrow doorway. "Ditto, Commander."


	3. Violent reactions

### Conflict

Something just wasn’t right – he had known it, _felt_ it, before they had hit the planet.

He’d thought the apprehension had something to do with the circumstances; the eerie quiet of the empty colony, metal retrofits marking the lives that had lived there. It wasn’t until after the waves of chitin armored enemies had fallen, and the grotesque contraption of husks and _metal_ and lasers had finally given way beneath the final heat sink of his commander’s heavy pistol, and the welcomingly familiar blue-shaded armor arrived at their position that he could put a _finger_ on it, though. The Alliance soldier explained that he was stationed here to receive them, and suddenly it all clicked, like a thermal clip into his old Mantis.

The Illusive Man had leaked their position.

This had continued to unsettle him – the idea of traitors did not sit well with him, especially after _Omega_ – until Kaiden had decided in that moment to _ignore reason._

The shuttle shivered in the air from its position hovering above the shuttle bay, vibrations rattling through the metal into the seats as he gently reduced the thrust of the engines. Final checks, the light clunk as the craft docked right on target, and they were down, the engines firing down with a low roar as Garrus slid from his seat. Reaching the back just as the hatch popped, he caught up to his commander within a few easy strides, falling into step as they exited the bay – and he couldn’t not say _something._

“Shepard.”

Green eyes flicked his way, eying him briefly, her lips still pursed tightly from the smart of meeting an old teammate – _a lover_ – at Horizon. Finding his voice, he forced himself to continue.

“You should visit me at the main battery later. I need your, uh, opinion on some of the upgrades I am looking into having installed.”

\-----

He shifted away from the console of the communicator, glancing over his shoulder to check that his modifications had loaded, before his attention shifted back to the woman in front of him, leaning against the large circular table that dominated the room. A brow rose, accompanied by a small smile as she caught his gaze, a question there, waiting, waiting for him to be ready - and he nodded at his finished work. "I've muted this room, for the time being. We should be able to have a private conversation now."  
  
Her smile grew at that, and she took the steps into the room that brought her to his side. "What would I do without you, Garrus?"  
  
Then he puts it off, commenting on the changes -the organisation, the ship - and how despite this, how it never really changed; the same mission, the same stakes. He goes on to make a comment about the change in her, when she interrupts him, her smile a bit more than it was when she had first walked in, and asks him to work his way to his main point a little faster, unless he had broken out of the Med bay to meet her here to discuss her hair, of all things.  
  
Gazes matched, her stare challenging, fighting him down, he'd frozen, unable to go on. Agitation skittered through his muscles, drilling tension into his skull.  
  
"This is not an easy discussion, Shepard."  
  
"Try me."  
  
“We fought together at the battle for the Citadel, Shepard, and I can't name the times you've had my back. I shared your team, at your flank in every mission. We killed Saren together."  
  
He paused, taking a breath, taking stock of what he had left to say. She looked confused, her brow quirking again, about to speak, and he raised a hand, his tone softening apologetically.  
  
"Not yet, Shepard. Then something -” his teeth clenched around the worlds, his control slipping and finishing it with a growl- "killed you. I- If I'd been there.. I can't help but think it would have been different. Yet, Alenko-"

"What..?" His gaze moved to hers, the technology within his scope mapping the changing lines of her fluxing emotions. His plates quivered, and he tried again, growling as she swung a hand out, shoving him back. " _Garrus_."

"I-"

" _Wait."_ She took a step into his personal space, a hand reaching up to stab at his chest. "Forget Alenko - _fuck_ Alenko. You will _not_ blame yourself for what happened to me. _"_

\-----  
  
Somehow, the situation went all to hell.

He couldn't remember who took the first swing. The ensuing flurry of movement and the flare of biotics blurred the subsequent actions together, a fist here, a dodge there. Pure stimulant surged through his veins, and when she moved, he moved, the synchronization perfected to a dance.

Tension strained at his muscles, and he could see it pulling at hers, and it occurred to him that this was so very _turian._ The thought startled him, and he leaned back suddenly, caught off balance. Shepard followed through, breaking through until she settled above him, a glowing fist pinioned firmly against his chest-

  
Then they were both panting on the floor, her hovering form wavering under blue sparks, before her weight settled heavily against the junction of his waist - the Alliance must give lessons about turian weak points - as her legs tangled with his, and he couldn't move without hurting her. Her skin flared, a biotic glow rippling to cover her skin in its entirety, before the mass effect field had modified her weight - armor crushing against his, her grip on his arms tightening.  
  
Something warm brushed against his side, and glancing up, he caught her gaze as the hand snaked around the back of his cowl, brushing the bandage carefully before resting at his cheek. His mandibles shifted under the unfamiliar weight, and though It wasn't an expression he was familiar with, he guessed the meaning well enough, and he appreciated it.  
  
 _"Shepard."_ His tone was softer, breaking her focus, and she withdrew, searching his features in a futile attempt to get a _read_ on him. He returned her gaze in turn, focus as unwavering as the set of his features, as her weight eased back, giving him room to breathe. After a moment of shuffling adjustments, she managed to sit back on her heels without crushing his ankles, and he levered upright , stretching a hand back to smooth the back of his neck.

"Look, Shepard. It was not something I - or any of us - took lightly. We shouldn't have been there, and we shouldn't have - moved on. I thought that - with Omega - that I could make a difference. Carry on your legacy." He broke off with a rough chuckle that flared his mandibles, his arm lowering to trace the jagged hole that wrecked his armor - the charred reminder of _his_ failure, and just how close _she_ had gotten to losing him. Her fingers clenched into fists at her side, flexing tightly as he continued.  "Shows what I know."  
  
"Garrus-"  
  
With a shake of his head, he looked away, managing one breath, then another.  
  
"Let me go, Shepard."  
  
Another complicated series of emotions swept her features, before sweeping clean to a blank, and without anything further, her grip relinquished on his arm. Flickering, the glow of her biotics brightened, interlacing into a single pulse that burst in an explosion of brilliant streaks of colour. The remnants flickered, sinking back into her skin, and then there was no more ceremony, nothing else to be said, and he got to his feet. She watched him with narrowed eyes, as she pushed herself in front of him, the cybernetics glowing faintly beneath her skin, and he offered a small grin, panting around the pain as the movement tugged at the staples in his cheek.

Her expression was undefinable, her usual ticks - the tightening clench of her jaw, and the beads of sweat that seemed an essentially _human_ feature - easily relating to their violent, if brief, scuffle, rather than serving as indicators of her thought processes.  
  
“Back to ' _battle stations',_ Shepard. If anything - know that I've got your back, always had. Don't let Alenko's attitude bother you. If I know anything, he's hurting, and needs some time to lick his wounds. I wouldn't recommend him getting within an arms length of me, but what can you do." He gave her a half-hearted grin, mandibles flaring awkwardly to the side. "If you need me, you know where to find me."  
  
\---

The doors of the elevator slid open with a short _snick_ , flooding the darkened space with the bright lighting of the CIC. She had yet to get used to the differences - the smooth, burnished steel designs of the Cerberus engineers more alien than that of the original turian-collaborative frigate, and it made her pause, hovering in the entryway, examining the space. The differences were subtle; the insert of the Cerberus logo there, the expansion of the galaxy map to include desk space, the sweeping walkways leading to sleek metal doors - that hosted rooms, instead of stairways.  
  
Refurbished yet familiar, a fresh lick of paint on an old design. Bright and shiny, very alike _someone else_ , and at this point, she was inclined to agree, gazing out at the wide room, idly rubbing a hand along a graze on her arm - the skin irritated by a scratch she must have gotten from Garrus's plates.

A light, cheerful voice broke her from her reverie, with: "you have a new message at your private terminal, commander."  
  
She glanced from where she had focused somewhere in the middle of the galaxy, amidst the birth and death of stars- abruptly meeting the pleasant smile of her assistant as the slight woman rested casually against the edge of her desk.  
  
"Kelly. Thank you."  
  
Warmth flashed in the other woman's smile, as she nodded her head, taking the praise modestly before turning back to her desk. A small smile making its way onto her own expression, Shepard moved towards the terminal, before a small hiss and a light touch on her arm made her pause.  
  
"Shepard - Commander. You may want to, uh, take this in private."


	4. Breaking through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Never question a good thing, Vakarian."

### Breaking through

_Function, Shepard. You will function, as a human being, as a commander. Even if this damn door will never be hacked – you will keep your grip tightly on your sanity, and never let it go –_

There was a short blip, as the stout square access pad flickered green, and it seemed for a moment that she had forced her way past the firewalls, before the firewall activated, shutting her out from the system.

“Fucking _shit.”_

“If you are interested, Shepard, the woman’s restrooms are just down the hall-”

“Can it, EDI.” Letting out a small growl, she allowed herself to fall forward until the cool metal of the door rested flush against her forehead, and _shit,_ if it didn’t feel like heaven. A small, petty part of her took a small victory from the utter filth she had been spewing for the past hour since her first attempts at hacking had failed. Although failure was an understated description for how the situation had concluded – the polite rebuff from the Normandy’s onboard hacker specialist - otherwise known as EDI – had attacked the latest version of hacking software newly bought from the citadel, and destroyed it before she could even inject the program into the door’s locking mechanism.

She hadn’t planned on getting _caught_ breaking into the starboard observatory, however. EDI was commenting on how she will have to report this to the XO, and ignoring her as she irritably bit back that if the AI would like to wake her up, she could fucking well do so, then have to deal with Jacob, and the rest of the ship who'd come to watch; when the calm measured tone paused mid-sentence, and didn't continue. Unnerved by the silence, she had glanced over her shoulder and spotted the silhouette before it had completely melted into the shadows by the mens room, before she was on her feet, Carnifex extended and ready.  
  
"I saw you. Come out with your hands in plain sight. _Please_."

The orange glow of a personal omnitool flickered into life, illuminating the darkened hallway as the turian raised his hands, fingers fluttering to show he was unarmed.  
  
"Commander. I was going to see if you needed help breaking and entering."  
  
Her heartbeat thundered in her chest as she released the breath she hadn't realised she was holding, lowering her gun and running a free hand distractedly through the straggled mess that had become of her hair. "Thank god. Garrus. I would have probably shot you if I saw a flash of Cerberus insignia. You know better than to sneak up on a soldier."  
  
"Sneaking, Shepard, is a subjective term, when your use of profanity should be loud enough to wake the Krogan from his tank." His mandibles flicked back in a small grin as an brow rose at that, forming the atypical expression of ‘ _Shepard is not impressed’,_ and in response, he gestured at the door, head quirking in his own version of ‘ _do I want to ask, Shepard?_ ’ In response, her expression suddenly turned sheepish, her eyes darting to the side to avoid his, before becoming instantly fascinated with the fastens that held her shirt together.

"I was having trouble sleeping. So I decided to break into my own ship. It's probably a surveillance hub, and there will be a guy with coffee and a donut watching my every move... But you never know."  
  
He moved in closer, sliding into place at her flank - on the side without the pistol - and selecting a few commands in his omnitool, he started a diagnostic. The lines of code ran past the display as his omnitool ran a scan on the upload, and after a few moments, uploaded the results on his visor, and he couldn't help the snort that burst out, despite his best attempts to disguise it as a cough.

"To be honest, I think the problem could be that your hacking VI is more than few years out of date.”

When she turned sharply, eyes narrowed, he was suddenly grateful that he had chosen her side furthest away from the hand that gripped the pistol.

"Since EDI destroyed my newest version _– which will probably impact mission efficiency, thank you EDI_ \- I’ve had to resort to one of my backups. It's old, but trustworthy, and has never failed me. Before this." Her concentration on her shirt broke momentarily to fixate angrily on the door, her eyes narrowing, before a foot was extended, slamming into the door with a dull and ineffective thud. Her teeth clenched, making the translation of her speech more difficult, so he knelt down to hear. " _-ng machines._ I reckon EDI's been changing the code every time I get a hit. She refuses to give me access... Yes!"  
  
Without any further ceremony, the flickering light of the door melted to a green, and with a shove, the commander was through. She pauses on the threshold, tension straightening the lines of her back, and he's quick to follow through, hands reaching to his hip to grip his pistol as he places himself in front of her. His eyes scanned the room for movement, for anything that could have elicited Shepard's reaction, before flicking his gaze back to the commander in confusion. She still hasn't moved, and following the direction of her eyes, he turns, to be faced with a cluttered shelf of bottles in the far corner. 

Garrus had to admit, he was impressed. It turns out Cerberus really had thought of everything.  
  
"There is a bar on my ship. Am I dreaming, Garrus?"

“I never knew you dreamt of me, Commander. I’m flattered.”

"Oh, just shut up and _get in._ ”

\------

“We never really had the chance to do this in the previous Normandy, with the rush to get to Saren, did we? You do drink, don’t you, Garrus? I've yet to meet anyone with a military background who doesn't."  
  
"Humans and turians have quite a few customs in common. Turian brandy is one of the best in the galaxy – if you’re dextro, that is. Alliance soldiers spread this rumour that we are _impervious_ to it, though, as when the chance comes along for an interspecies drinking competition, they always _lose, and sorely.”_ He paused, sending her a glance, which she returned with a bemused grin, before gesturing him to continue.

“ _Really._ ”

“Morale of the story? It takes a bit longer to get a turian drunk, and Alliance soldiers lack _stamina_. Just another example of your species inferiority, you might say. "  
  
" _I see._ Well, Garrus, you're no Krogan. And I've been known to drink _them_ under the table. I never mentioned that time with Wrex, on Noveria, when you were down from the last time I dragged you into that frozen wasteland. The great Vakarian, prime example of his _marvelous_ species, felled by the _common cold_."  
  
"That sounds like a challenge, commander."  
  
"That it could be. As long as you aren't afraid of insubordination, and call me by my _name_ , Vakarian. As I’ve told you before, we aren’t under the Alliance command anymore, and I won’t take such formality on _my ship_."

“I’d say the power is getting to your head, Shepard.” His mandibles fluttered in a grin as she gave him a dirty look, before she was slipping behind the bar, skimming the surfaces with a hand until she found what she was looking for and set to work on manipulating the code with her omnitool to bypass the security interface.

Working much more efficiently against the smaller and markedly less-defended hardware, she unlocked the cabinets and set the display to transparent - and gave a small exclamation that had him breaking away from the doorway, into a run that brought him abreast her. His hand twitched from its position at his side, aching for the weapon that _wasn’t there –which he cursed himself for; he’d never make the decision to go without one on this ship ever again –_ before she looked up at him, and he caught sight of her wide smile, the white of glint of teeth peeking coquettishly through. She gestured to the bottle in her arms, curled protectively against her chest.

“My favourite pinot, straight from the vineyards of Earth.” His translator garbled at the foreign word, leaving it in its original state so that he could hear her softer human tones. She seemed to notice his confusion – she had gotten better at reading turians since the SR-1, it seemed – and shook her head, her cheeks flushing a light pink. “It’s – it’s been years since I’ve seen this. They don’t stock it at any shop I’ve tried at the Citadel, and I haven’t been stationed on Earth since I left for my N1 training.

“Now Vakarian. What’s your poison?”

He knew this one – and he sent her a grin, pointing at a bottle to her right. “Why don’t we start off with this, and see how the night goes?”

This felt _right._ They had not had the chance to relax together on their previous mission– _they hadn’t had the time_ \- which, considering the amount of respect he had for her, he regretted. His glance flicked back to her as a glass skidded his way across the table, the aqua shade of turian brandy glowing under the fluorescent lighting. He’d have to change that.

He turned to her as she slid beside him at the counter, small, delicate fingers perched carefully on the thin stem of the most _unusual_ drinking implement he had seen her use yet – and lifted his glass, enjoying her grin as she mirrored his action. “To you, Shepard.”

“To _us_.”


	5. Hung up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of 'breaking through'.

### Hung up

Their glasses clink back onto the counter with a messy clatter as Garris pushes himself away from the bar, staring blearily at the dulled lights above them. There is no question that the alcohol has taken a toll on his system, making his limbs heavy and sluggish. Honestly, it's a miracle he is still awake. Shepard isn't faring much better, her hair the only visible part of her slumped form as she cradles an empty bottle. 

It doesn't take Garrus long to recognize the opportunity, however. This may be the only time he'll get an honest answer to the question. “Shepard. Can I ask what predicated the sudden interest in the starboard observatory that made it _essential_ to stage a break-in in the middle of the night?"

It wasn’t really that he wanted to _know_ \- she was too good for that, even when inebriated - but more that he wanted the opportunity to study her reactions. To his chagrin, she didn't miss a beat, her voice wry in her reply. "Never question a good thing, Vakarian."

\---------

Several drinks later found them hunched closer together, the knees of her armor just-not brushing his own as their drinks clinked back onto the bar, the empty glasses ringing against the surface. Resting the hand without the glass precariously against the counter, Shepard was so unlike her usual self - flailing limbs and awkward joints, as she leaned haphazardly across the bar for the spirit bottles - that it would have been startling to Garrus, if he had cared.

" _Noveria_. I missed you there. It wasn't the same without my best officer."

Feeling the warm blend of alcohol with his thoughts and enjoying it, he tilted his head to catch her eyes with a wide smile, keeping his reply light. "He's here. And _you_ aren’t keeping up your promise. I thought you were meant to drink me under the table?”

Her eyes were dark in the low lighting as she raised a brow at him, and she huffed out a laugh, swilling her drink so that its contents licked dangerously at the lip. "Garrus... _Garrus._ You’ve had my flank – for god knows how long. I don’t know how you do it. You're amazing, you know that?" She peered over the edge of her glass, meeting his gaze in a brief, abashed fashion, before it dropped back to the depths of her drink. She was studiously ignoring Garrus as she studied her glass -it was a lot less full than the last time she had seen it, and that would _not_ do. The light swirling in the dregs of amber at the bottom of the glass, she tipped it back, reaching for another - to be stopped at a touch on her arm.

He'd shifted closer before she had had time to react, his free hand moving to grip her arm, smoothing along her skin as he brought her round to face him. It was not unpleasant, he found himself thinking – although _different_ , in that human way, where contact played a much more important role in communication. Many fingers shifted, hesitant in their movements along his plating of his arm, before settling in the crook before his collar - and if he was honest with himself, it wasn't as strange as he thought it would be. Her fingers were a comfortable warm weight in his hand, her grip tightening - although lacking any real strength – and without hesitation, he returned the pressure.

His head turned when she shifted, with the intention of meeting her gaze, before realizing just how close they had become, sending streams of information flickering across his visor, analyzing compounds, and he could only blink though it, intent on her gaze as she made contact with his, a brief, flickering smile crossing her features.

“Thank you, Garrus.” She sat back, and a low rumble erupted from his chest, which, to his embarrassment, drew a short laugh out of his similarly indisposed companion, and coughing lightly, he released her hand, turning back to his drink and tipping down the contents.

“You have no reason to thank me, Shepard.”

The alcohol must have been reaching his head, as her words hit a note of agitation within him, bringing with it unwanted memories of empty caskets and vids of burning wreckage. His grip tightened on the glass as his gaze shifted to the dregs that lined the bottom, before he turned abruptly, eyes moving to scan the bottles on the far wall, trying -and failing - to brush them from his mind. He doubted he'll ever really get over Shepard's death.  
   
Getting abruptly to his feet, Garrus walked - if not stumbled- the short distance to the bar, eying up their selection. A brief rummage through the cabinets tucked neatly beneath the main counter later shores a familiar shaped bottle onto the counter, and he hummed in appreciation. Quarian spirits. _Expensive_ Quarian spirits. Cerberus was certainly well stocked. He makes himself another drink and sits back, returning to his previous spot as his eyes scan over her. In the faint light, her scars were barely visible, making her appear softer, and something about her expression sent his nerves skittering beneath his skin, fingers itching to wrap around her and draw her closer.  
  
And maybe it'a the alcohol talking, but he has to say it once.  
   
"I'm sorry." 

She lifts her head from where she'd rested it against her folded arms, squinting against the faint light. When he doesn't elaborate, she pulls herself up in her seat, scrubbing a hand across her face as she breathes out in a long, slow exhale. "For earlier? Don't be. Initiating a _brawl_ of all things with my second in command.... _Jesus._ That was all me."  
  
She broke into a quiet laugh on the exclamation, the sound closer than he had expected it, and when he glanced towards her, he found she had closed the distance between them. Her strange, oddly-shaped knees just brushed his own, and without the protective layers of their body armor, he could feel her warmth through her clothing. Something within him remarked that if she were a turian, this intimacy would mean _something else entirely._

 _And that was- inappropriate._ A low rumble broke from his throat, thankfully too low to be deciphered by any translation machinery, and he ignored her curious glance as his thoughts were shoved away from the subject. Her exclamation was appropriate.  _Jesus,_ Vakarian. _Get a grip on yourself._ His mandibles fluttered, his flustered irritation manifesting itself in physical tells, before he brought his focus back to their conversation.  
   
"I seem to remember there being _two_ people in that fight, Shepard."

Her nose wrinkled, in an expression he had come to associate with a sarcastic quip and a raised brow. Instead she shifted, scooting even closer until she was flush against his side, and with a sigh, she leaned against him. He stiffened, unsure of where to _place his hands_ as she wriggled closer, oblivious to his hesitance, and jammed herself into the junction formed from his arm and chest plate.

He glanced at her when she settled, catching the small twitch of her lips as she watched him, before her eyes flickered shut. “Garrus _._ You are about the only good thing I’ve got going for me right now. I don’t deserve you.”

\---------

It's another six hours before the _de jure_ XO of the Normandy uncovers the mess, a litter of dual-chiral beer bottles and a note, scribbled in messy cursive and stuffed into the throat of an empty wine bottle. _'sorry about the mess. when were you going to tell us about the bar? Shepard'_.


End file.
